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sides are satisfied,” she told him. “But we’re still getting the angry e-mails—more each day. I’ve done some research—basic Google searches—and I found out that some wing-nut radio talk show hosts are targeting us.”
    “Isn’t that part of the job description?” he asked. “Both theirs and yours?”
    “Not when it incites something like this.”
    She could brush aside the threats that came from brainwashed people sitting on their sofas with their laptops, able to send an e-mail, but too lazy to actually get off their butts.
    Someone clearly had, however, gotten off his butt this morning.
    As Callahan glanced over again at the threatening note that was atop her desk, his expression turned rueful. “I wish there were easy answers, but…” He shook his head. “I’m not going to lie to you, Jennifer—”
    “Jenn’s short for Jennilyn,” she corrected him.
    “Jennilyn,” he repeated, making a note on the scruffy little pad that he’d pulled from the inside pocket of his leather jacket when he’d first arrived. “Pretty name. Two words? Hyphenated?”
    “One word,” she told him, spelling it for him, spelling her last name, LeMay, while she was at it. “And I’ve found that people usually say
I’m not going to lie to you
before they actually, you know, lie to you?”
    He smiled again as he nodded. “Yeah, me too. It’s just… there’s not much to go on. The paper that the note’s printed on is standard copy paper. Maybe the lab could tell us whether this was printed on an inkjet or some other kind of printer. They could certainly ID the font, but—”
    “I can do that. It’s Times New Roman, size eighteen or twenty,” Jenn said.
    “There you go,” the detective told her. “That’s narrowed our suspects down to most of the people in Manhattan. And who’s to say he or she”—he looked at the knife and made a choice—
“he
didn’t come in from out of town—and don’t start screaming that I’m being sexist—”
    “I’ve been assuming it’s a man, too,” she cut him off, “which is definitely sexist, but probably true. Men often suck.”
    “Not all of ’em,” he said. “And as far as the knife goes …” He picked it up. “It’s a Wüsthof—a high-end kitchen knife, sold not just in a set but also separately at Macy’s, and the only reason I know
that
is my cousin Julie just got engaged and there was this whole crazy thing with my aunt about not giving or getting knives as a gift. Turns out if you do, the world will end and … Just… Trust me. They sell ’em, by the dozens at Macy’s and God knows where else. So …” He shrugged again. “Short of my sitting outside your door day and night, I think the first thing you should do is upgrade your security system. Both here and at yours and the assemblywoman’s residences.”
    He looked around the tiny front office, at the two desks and theconference table that was covered with stacks of files from the school-safety project. “Any other full-time staffers in the office?”
    “No,” she answered. Savannah hadn’t returned since Ken was injured. With Jenn’s help, she’d managed the campaign long-distance from beside her husband’s hospital bed, and had only come back to town—very briefly—for election day and their victory party. She still stayed in touch by phone, though. Jenn was looking forward to her input and opinion on how to keep Maria safe. In fact, she was going to call Savannah immediately after the detective left. “Just interns and the occasional volunteer.”
    “And they’re all people you trust?” Callahan asked. “People whose backgrounds you’ve cleared?”
    “Yes,” Jenn told him, but then shook her head. “The interns, yes. But the volunteers … You can’t exactly grill someone who comes in to help stuff envelopes for a mailing.”
    “But everyone who’s got a key has been checked?” he asked, as he glanced at his watch and frowned.
    “I don’t think so,” Jenn